


Till Death Do Us (Not) Part

by OrsFri



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Coping, Old Age, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrsFri/pseuds/OrsFri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DenSey AU. When you’ve been together for so long, some things never really go away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till Death Do Us (Not) Part

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to stick to canon names for the characters (if they exist), even if it garners a few raised eyebrows. But sometimes I _may_ find a name that fits better and then it's full out DOWN WITH THE SYSTEM.
> 
> Also, warning for character death. But this is a happy ending anyway.
> 
> Preben Anderson = Denmark  
> Michelle = Seychelles  
> Eirik = Norway  
> Einar = Iceland

When Preben wakes, it is to Michelle curled up against him, warm and smiling in his arms.

Preben smiles, because he always smiles, and because waking up next to her still fills his chest with a strange sorts of lightness that may be called _happiness_ first thing in the morning. It's something he never quite gets used to. Then again, he _has_ gotten used to being pleasantly surprised every morning.

A kiss to her forehead, a sleepy little sigh, as Preben detaches cautiously from Michelle. He tucks the blanket by her waist before slipping off to the kitchen. Orange juice for both of them, because Michelle from her sunny tropics loves fruits and oranges and Preben loves it when Michelle is happy. As he slices the bread, he hears a gentle patter as Michelle walks into the kitchen.

"Breakfast is almost ready," he calls out, and glances back grinning.

But Michelle isn't there. Michelle hasn't been there for a long time. The two glasses of orange juice stagnate on the table.

* * *

Love comes and goes, they say, but Preben sometimes lapses into what others will call melancholy.

When he is melancholic, though, he makes his trip to a nearby park. Everytime he goes, Berwald will be sitting on the same park bench with the "Pick up after your dog!" sign post, staring at nothing and everything at the same time. Half the time when Preben sees this, he will laugh and tell Berwald that with the sign so close, it's inconsiderate to not pick Berwald up and toss him into the bin, but then Berwald will blink confusedly at Preben and the guilt mounts and surges and gets too much. So Preben shrugs and sits with Berwald.

He wonders if Berwald still remember the times when they are younger, with red-hot anger and dirty pranks, scuffles in the snow and snarls by the streets, before age and love has tamed both of them down. He wonders if Berwald misses those times as much as he does, too; but then he remembers the cloudiness in Berwald's eyes and Preben shakes off the possibility.

That morning, Berwald sits there alone again, and Preben joins him. Again.

"Today, I thought I saw Michelle," Preben begins, "I thought I woke up next to her."

Berwald sniffs. Preben continues: "They say I'll get over her, you know? One day, I'll wake up alone, and it'll feel normal, because time fades everything, but. But I don't think I'll ever get used to this. I hadn't gotten used to it any bit in the past six years."

Berwald still doesn't say anything. Instead, he sneezes. "Bless you," Preben says, and wonders when has the two of them become so _civil_.

He gets a grunt in reply, which is more of a reaction that he gets from Berwald for the past few months. It's the small victories, Preben thinks, that keeps him trying nowadays.

They sit in silence until some time later when a pretty girl with long hair hurries over. Her smile is gentle when she thanks Preben for accompanying her father-in-law. It all reminds him of Michelle, with the strands that waves down the small of her back and the vibrancy of even the slightest grin. Will Berwald punch him if he kisses her?

"It's no problem! We go _waaaay_ back," Preben chirps, knocking his shoulders with Berwald's.

Berwald's daughter-in-law laughs; she thanks Preben once more before helping Berwald to his feet. Berwald still looks a little confused as she mutters softly to him, about going home and _we all know where you are, but he worries, so don't run off all the time, ok?_ When they walk away Berwald nods - a moment of clarity, before the cloud settles and everything slips away again.

Preben counts down the days, and thinks he'll start bringing the glass of orange juice for Berwald instead of pouring it away.

* * *

In his dreams, Michelle is in the sea.

She is suspended in the water, laughing as bubbles fizzle from her mouth, and when Preben reaches out to feel the bubbles cling to his fingers and warms the tips.

"I love you," she says, and grabs his hand. The tingling spreads. "I love you deeper than the sea."

Preben pulls her close, close enough to hug. She feels so warm. "Michelle," he says. She closes her eyes. "Michelle."

And then he wakes, gasping for breath, and his heart feels as though it is torn through his chest and thrown into the sea, and he's drowning all over again.

* * *

Eirik visits. It's no longer a surprise. Eirik brings his son. _That_ is a surprise.

"Uncle Anderson," Einar greets with a cautious nod.

Preben wonders if sons all grew to take after their fathers. "It's weird to hear you call me uncle when you're already one yourself." He grins. "Anyway, make yourself at home. I'll get some coffee for you two."

When Preben returns, both father and son are sitting on the couch and muttering to one another. He places the mugs down with a sharp clang. Both jump.

 _That_ garners a raised eyebrow, but Preben forces the ugly thoughts away. "So, what brings both of you here to the house of this lonely old man today?" Preben asks, "Eirik's visits I understand, but you too, Einar? Feeling sentimental?"

Einar flinches, and suddenly it feels like they are back to all those decades ago, when Eirik first turned up on Preben's doorstep with a boy in tow and all Preben can say is spite. Like then too, Eirik sweeps in to defend his son.

"There is nothing wrong with missing the place you spent so much time in as a child," he retorts coldly, "even if his Aunt Anderson is no longer there to welcome him."

 _Ouch_. "Aww, I'm not saying there's anything wrong," Preben replies. Eirik's gaze does not waver, never did, and Preben is too tired to harp on old grudges. "It's just unexpected. I haven't seen the kid since the funeral."

"I," Einar begins, before hesitating. He exchanges a glance with his father, and Anderson wonders if some kids ever grow up. "I am now a father."

"Oh?"

"It's a girl." Einar refuses to look at him. "She's only a few weeks old, but my wife - do you remember her? She's the same girl from high school - she, she agrees that I ought to inform you.

"We've decided to name the baby Michelle."

Eirik moves almost as Preben does, and really, a man as old as they are shouldn't be able to move that fast. "Look, you idiot, you -" A forceful press, and Eirik is snarling in his face. "Sit down and listen to what he got to say. He deserves at least that."

"What do you want me to say?" Preben hisses. "It's not my right who _your_ son decides to name his girl after."

"You speak as though you've never played a part in raising him."

"I didn't. It's mostly Michelle."

Einar sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. Eirik looks ready to hurl the mug into his face. Instead, he leans back, pointedly looking away.

The silence is stiffling, the only sound is Preben's own loud wheezing breaths. "Hey." Both father and son do not react. Preben tries again. "Hey you two - come on look at me!"

"Do you hate me so much, Uncle Anderson?" Einar suddenly asks, and even if Preben won't ever admit it, it hurts his heart, just a little, to hear Einar's voice crack.

"I don't... _hate_ you." They are both looking at him now, eyes wide and disbelieving, one hopeful and one accusing. "It's just that, you remind me of Michelle too much."

The answer drops like an anvil, loud and heavy and they can all feel the reverberations. Einar blinks once; twice.

"Oh," he says.

* * *

They all married late, all three of them, and Preben marries the latest of them all. But three years ago, when Preben is still a bachelor and Berwald already has a kid, Eirik kisses a girl whom Preben has thought will be _his_. Preben clenches his fists, decides that enough is enough, and leaves.

It is this departure that eventually brings him to America, _land of opportunities_ and all that trite; but then he meets _Michelle_ and realises that, perhaps, things can get better for him too. He marries, he settles, and he falls so deeply into Michelle he can almost forget he has a past.

Then Berwald migrates over with his family. Then Eirik finds him with a son by his hip, and two rings on a chain dangling from his neck.

"Sorry," Eirik tells him.

"Sorry," Preben tells Michelle, and she draws him close, hugs him, tells him that she understands, and _it's all so very complicated, isn't it?_

Preben nods, and doesn't mention how Einar looks exactly like his mother.

And now, almost thirty years later, Preben looks at him, and sees Michelle smoothing down Einar's shirt instead.

* * *

"I miss her so much," Preben says.

"I know."

"I see her everywhere, even though I know it's only my own head messing with me."

"I know."

"Ugh, Eirik, see how lonely I am? Do you see it? Do you?"

It garners Preben an eye-roll and a snort. "I _know_. Stop being dramatic."

Preben sighs and stares out of the window. Einar has excused himself and leaves first; Preben almost feels guilty at how relieved he feels. "How did you ever get over it?"

"Me?" Eirik chuckles. "I've a kid to look after, back then. It's no time for mourning."

"Michelle and I - we never managed to have a child. Somehow we didn't adopt, and we're fine with it. Weird how it's simply something we never cared for, and yet you turn up with Einar and gives us a child to look after anyway."

Eirik shrugs. "Life works out in its own little ways."

"Yeah." A pause. "Remember that old man who lives at the end of the road? He always says he knows when he'll, you know, go."

"We never really understood what he meant then, didn't we?"

"Of course we didn't; we're too young to know better then."

"Then do you know, now? When you will go?"

Preben laughs, and looks down at the coffee he cusps in his palms. It has long since gone cold. "Yeah, she's here to fetch me."

Eirik hums, and he's staring pass Preben, through Preben; probably at the yellowed photographs hanging on the walls. "Well, you better hurry up then. She's waited long enough."

* * *

That night, he doesn't dream of Michelle.

He doesn't see her when he wakes too.

It's a weird thing. He's so used to her shadow lingering at the edge of his consciousness, her absence actually makes Preben feels colder. He thinks, as he pours only one glass of orange juice, that maybe it's a premonition of sorts.

Perhaps that is why when he goes to the park today, a thermos of cold juice tucked under his arms, Berwald looks up as he approaches.

"Morning! I got you some..." Preben brandishes the thermos with a flourish. "Orange juice! And this is the moment I hope you don't tell me you have diabetes or something."

Berwald blinks. Then slowly, almost painfully so, Berwald's lips crook at one end.

Preben almost stops breathing.

He doesn't know how long they stare at each other like this, two old men detached with reality, one barely managing a smile while the other (specifically _him_ ) looking like he's about to suffer a heart attack, but then there's the tell-tale _click thump_ of Berwald's daughter-in-law's boots. The footsteps halts to an abrupt stop and Preben sees her from the peripheral of his eyes, twisting to glance between them both in confusion.

"Is everything alright?" she asks, and the spell is broken.

Preben glances away first. "Ah, just the person I'm looking for." He grins, bright and easy, and feels a vague sense of pride that he can still be the cause behind the faint brush of red on her cheeks. "I brought some orange juice for Berwald, but Berwald is, well, _Berwald_ , so do you mind holding onto it for him?"

"Oh yes!" She hurriedly takes the thermos for him. The following events proceed more like usual, the daughter-in-law thanking him and Preben laughing it off that it's no problem, and then her urging Berwald home.

Berwald stands, but he continues to stare at Preben. He doesn't even blink.

"Goodbye," he suddenly mutters, soft enough that his daughter-in-law scrunches her eyebrows and asks Berwald to repeat what he says.

But Berwald doesn't. He stares at Preben, unflinching, unwavering, and the gaze burns into Preben's back even as Preben leaves the park.

* * *

He's at the beach. It's an hour's taxi ride from the park, and Preben pays the driver a little extra for driving as smoothly as the ride has been.

It's too early for there to be much of a crowd. Preben finds a seat by a tree and leans. He watches the sun hangs low above the sea, and the waves crash against the shore, gently and almost silently, steady _shuff_ s and _rrrrrshhhhoo_ that he used to attempt miming to Michelle. It has always made her laugh.

The wind today is warmer than he remembers. Not unpleasantly; the warmth reminds him of a blanket in mid autumn, chilly enough to huddle in blankets with preferably a special someone, yet not cold enough to shiver. It almost feels like a caress, he thinks, and he closes his eyes to try and savour the feeling better.

He inhales and exhales deeply, and then someone says, "Preben?" and he startles awake.

Michelle stands over him, the wrinkles at the end of her eyes gone and her hair long and dark. Her forehead is slightly creased as she towers above him. "Don't like the heat much?"

"What?" Preben squints and pushes himself up. He doesn't feel the thrumming ache in his bones. When he glances up, the sun is scorching and the air around him feels like it's _burning_. He pouts. "I feel like I'm melting."

Michelle laughs, and steps closer, the movement causing her babydoll dress swirling around her knees. "Come on," she says, holding out a hand, "it's cooler if you get into the water."

Preben doesn't hesitate to grab her hand. She laughs again, her voice clear and resonating, before she pulls him with a hard tug before dragging him off to a run.

And suddenly they are teenagers again, running down the beach with their hands joined, and it's the most alive Preben has ever felt in _years_.

"Wait, Michelle -" Preben halts abruptly, and the momentum sends Michelle stumbling, only to be pulled back into Preben's arms. She looks up at him, and this time, Preben really _looks_ \- sees the sweat glistening down the slant of her neck, the flush on her cheeks, the glowing liveliness in her eyes as she smiles, and damn, he has forgotten how _breath-taking_ Michelle is in her youth.

Her mouth opens - probably to tease him, or something. But Preben doesn't give her a chance. With a waggle of the eyebrows and a grin, he topples them both into the ocean, clothes and all, and all he hears is the rushing of the waves and Michelle's shrill yet delightful squeals.

(Somewhere else, in another world, the sun rises to the middle of the sky, and casts its rays down on an old man leaning by a tree on the seashore, smiling as he heaves his last.) 


End file.
